


there's a small space between us

by lemon_meringue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Nervous Peter Parker, Not Canon Compliant, Not Underage, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Has a Family, Peter's age isn't specified but he is a legal adult, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Tony Stark, Safe Sane and Consensual, Size Difference, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:39:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_meringue/pseuds/lemon_meringue
Summary: Ever since the incident with the Vulture getting Peter crushed under a couple tons of concrete, the kid gets panic attacks from having anything on top of him. Bucky helps. Tony Stark is a protective dad.





	1. pillows and panic

**Author's Note:**

> This 'Peter is claustrophobic and Bucky helps him get comfortable with physical closeness' concept was the first headcanon I ever came up with and as I was editing this I thought of a better plot for it, so I'm probably gonna write another fic that follows the exact same premise, but will hopefully be better written. 
> 
> On that note, this is a mess, so am I, but I spent too much time writing it not to post it, so I hope you like it anyways <3

It started with a pillow fort, of all things.

 

Bets were placed, some irrational and excessive competition was thrown in, and then Clint and Natasha were competing to see who could make a more structurally sound and impressive pillow fort. 

  
Tony wasn’t very pleased about all the cushions for all the couches in the compound magically disappearing, but Peter could see the enjoyment hidden under his supposedly unamused expression when they walked into the living room on the main floor. The very large room was divided in two, with a narrow walkway just big enough for Thor to wiggle through, two equally large blanket castles on either side. 

  
Because really, they were _castles_. Natasha’s was fortified by cushions with pillows bracing everything, blankets tied and pinned and weighed down with books. Clint’s was much shorter, meant to be crawled into and lied in. He had cushions scattered around the inside with various weights (no doubt Steve’s missing weights that he keeps complaining about the disappearance of) to brace them, and pillows layered on top like a roof. Each fort was probably big enough to fit the entire Avengers team inside. 

  
“That’s gotta be cheating,” Tony said, eyeing Clint as he adjusted one weight. Clint said something into the cushion that they couldn’t hear, then wormed his way out. 

  
“No way. I’m using my resources.” He replied. From a short ways behind them, Bruce spoke up. 

  
“You mean Steve’s resources,” he prompted. Clint rolled his eyes. 

  
“Tomato [tomayto] tomato [tomahto],” Clint smirked. Peter just grinned, excited to explore the pillow forts. 

  
“Alright, judges, please step forth,” Natasha beamed, gesturing to Tony, Peter, and Bruce, just as Steve and Bucky entered from the kitchen. Peter's heart definitely did not skip a few beats at the sight of them (or, well, Bucky). 

  
“And when were you going to invite us?” The dark haired soldier narrowed his eyes at the Black Widow. She narrowed hers back. 

  
“I wasn’t.” She deadpanned, a split second before smiling widely. Peter bounced slightly, rolling from his heels to the pads of his feet and back. 

  
“Do we get to go in?” He asked, sounding a little too hopeful, probably. Clint grinned at him. 

  
“Be my guest,” he offered, stepping out of the way of his fort’s entrance and giving the structure a dramatic, welcoming arm gesture. Peter hustled over first, Tony on his tail  and Bruce lingering behind. 

  
“You know what, I think I’ll defer to Bucky.” He said, eyeing Clint’s fort skeptically. The bowman gave him a betrayed look and patted his own chest. 

  
“Ouch, Banner. Ouch.” 

  
Peter payed them no mind, dropping to his knees and crawling in. It was dim, the light of the sun streaming through the windows turned shades of blue and pink and yellow as it shown through the blankets above. The cushions were in awkward places, and eventually Peter ended up crawling on his belly deeper inside, making room for Tony to join him. Bucky was just crouching in the entree, the light casting an ironic halo around him, looking inside with “judgmental eyes” ( _“I’m_ supposed _to be judging you, Clint.”_ ) when the compound started to shake. 

  
Now, this is not unusual. Typically, it just means that Thor is leaving or arriving. But it startled everyone, nonetheless, and Tony’s leg bumped a cushion. It slipped out easily from the weights that were supposed to be holding it in place and fell to the side, consequentially knocking over another cushion next to Peter. Apparently, some of the blankets and pillows for the roof were supposed to be secured on one of those cushions (Peter doesn’t know which), because then the padding and the blankets and pillows on top dropped onto Peter.

  
It was light, just a few layers of feathers and fluff on top of him. Even a non-super powered human would barely pay any attention at all to it. 

  
But Peter didn’t really register that. All his brain picked up on was shaking and the light getting blocked out and things falling on top of him, and suddenly he was fifteen again, in a red hoodie, trapped under multiple tons of concrete rubble, screaming for help that wasn’t coming. 

  
His entire body went tense and he froze. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, and that was it. His impaired vision went blank, his eyes unfocused, and all he could see were cement bricks falling around him. Air being crushed out of his lungs. Debris flying at him, digging into his skin, thick clouds of dust rising up and suffocating him in tandem with the wreckage. 

  
He couldn’t breathe, but he was hyperventilating, and closing his fists so tight that that his knuckles turned white. He was shaking, head dropped down. 

  
Everything was deafening, he was claustrophobic on a whole new level. He needed to get out, he needed to get out, he needed to scream for help but his voice was dying inside him as his throat filled up with dust, and his lungs were being flattened, his legs were going numb. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe. 

  
And then he could hear something, distant and otherworldly, like coming from underwater. It sounded like Tony, so Peter clung to it until it was clear. 

  
“Pete? Hey, Pete, come on, breathe kid, easy,” Tony was saying, and his hand was on Peter’s shoulder. There was another hand on the back of his neck, and it was really, really cold (what the hell?), so he chased the coldness and Tony’s voice until he could see the floor under him and the pink light of the blanket fort. It smelled like the compound. 

  
The compound. He’s safe at the compound. Not buried until a building. He’s ok. 

  
He swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, looking up at Tony with what was probably a pathetic expression. Tony just held eye contact with him for a few moments before sighing and giving a relieved smile. 

  
“There you go, Pete. You’re ok. You’re here, alright? You good, kid?” He asked, and Peter nodded sheepishly. Jesus Christ. A pillow fort just triggered a panic attack. A _pillow fort_. Shit. 

  
“Yeah, I’m- yeah. ‘m good. Sorry,” He said quietly. Tony just grinned at him and squeezed his shoulder. 

  
“Don’t apologize. You’re ok,” He nodded, and Peter nodded back. Then Tony was smirking across and Peter looked over to see Bucky eyeing Tony with a quirked brow. Peter suddenly realized that it was, in fact, Bucky’s metal hand on the back of his neck, and he’s pretty sure he went cherry red in the face. 

  
“I’d give it a 4 for structural instability,” Tony called out, facing the exit, and Peter couldn’t see the man but he heard Clint cuss loudly. 

  
“How was that my fault? Thor’s the walking earthquake,” He grumbled. Peter mostly forced a laugh, feeling his body still trembling slightly with the aftershocks. Tony moved to worm his way out, and Peter re-situated on his elbows to follow him. 

  
Bucky’s hand slowly left his neck, but caught his shoulder, making Peter turn to look at him. 

  
“You alright?” He asked. Peter could see his eyes shining in the low light. All the boy could do was nod and offer a fragile smile, turning quickly to follow Tony out of the fort. His heart was going to beat out of his chest. Not because he has a crush on Bucky, because of course he doesn't, that's ridiculous, but because the man just saw him have an anxiety attack in a pillow fort and Peter didn't want to stick around.

  
Natasha was in the process of opening the blanket door to her own creation when Peter made it back out. Thor was there, walking out of the living room with Steve in tow, speaking quietly about something to do with Loki as they left. 

  
“Gentlemen, prepare to experience a _quality_  pillow fort.” The Black Widow smirked. Peter took a moment to appreciate the way she clipped her hair off her forehead and offered her a small grin. Tony rolled his eyes but dropped to enter, Peter on his tail. 

  
Peter liked Natasha’s fort a lot better. The blanket ceiling was higher up and it was all open space, and a bit brighter. He could sit up straight and watch with amusement as Bucky had to duck his head a little, and smirked when he caught Peter looking. Peter blushed at that smirk, though he wasn’t sure why (he knew exactly why). 

  
“Well, what d’ya think?” Bruce’s voice came from outside. 

  
“I like it a lot!” Peter said, and Tony nodded in amusement to Nat as she crouched down to peer inside. She grinned at the boy, her eyes and nose wrinkling. 

  
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” She beamed, catching Clint’s foot as it aimed for her side. The ‘judges’ laughed, to Clint’s displeasure, and Peter smiled and pretended that he wasn’t still shaking a little, that he was completely and utterly alright. 

  
***

  
He stops pretending around three in the morning. 

  
He had laid in bed for hours, eyes closed, trying to will himself to sleep, but his limbs still felt uncoordinated and a little weak and shaky, still feeling the aftershocks of the attack, and he was still keyed up and kept feeling dust in his lungs and concrete on his back. So he made his way silently out of his room and to the balcony, webbing his way up to the roof.

  
He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't actually care, though. 

  
It's cold, but it's good. He pulls the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and hugs his knees to his chest, rocking himself ever so slightly. 

  
They're far enough into the middle of nowhere so that Peter can see the stars. Not as many as he knows are out there, but enough to fill up the whole sky. The moon is over half way full and there's a chilly breeze blowing, so Peter tugs the strings of his hood and closes it a little tighter around his head and face. Some of his unruly hair still sneaks out and waves in the wind, though. 

  
He tries to breathe the way Tony taught him. Imagines Mr. Stark's voice counting the seconds for him to inhale, hold it, exhale. He closes his eyes. The roof is cold under him and it smells like pine trees, and he grasps onto to those sensations to chase away the deafening sound of cement collapsing on top of him. 

  
A hand lands on his shoulder and Peter almost leaps out of his skin. His body jerks and he turns sharply, but the hand pulls away before he can swing at it. Peter looks up and it actually takes a few seconds for his eyes to focus and his ears to function, for him to realize the hand is connected to Bucky. 

  
He's standing a few feet behind Peter now, hands raised a little in surrender. He's wearing joggers and a t-shirt and an actual coat, a blanket tucked under his arm. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail and his metal hand catches the light from the moon. Peter doesn't realize his pulse had spiked until he calms down and feels tremors of unused adrenaline fading from his veins. 

  
"Easy, kid. Just me," Bucky says quietly. Peter nods, and then flushes pink, turning away from him quickly. 

  
"Yeah, s-sorry, just startled m-me," he says sheepishly. Well, that's embarrassing. Bucky smiles sympathetically and takes a seat next to him. Peter doesn't really register the blanket Bucky drapes around him, caught up in wondering if he was so far in his head that he didn't notice his spider senses. 

  
"Thanks..." He whispers. Bucky nods and get situated, their thighs barely six inches apart. 

  
They sit in silence for a while, and Peter can't decide if he's more or less comfortable. Bucky leans back, bracing himself and gazing up at the stars. Peter forces himself not to stare at the man, and how piercingly blue his eyes look, how defined his jaw is from the side.    


  
"So. You wanna talk about it?" Bucky prompts after a while. His tone is soft and kind but Peter doesn't really feel like he's being given an option. He shifts in his spot and tucks his hands under his thighs. The roof is cold on his palms and he worries his bottom lip, avoiding Bucky's eyes. 

  
"I, uh," he tries to start and feels his throat closing up. He doesn't like talking about it. "W-when I fought the Vulture, um, h-he kinda, kinda dropped a building on me?" He looks at Bucky, who nods with his eyebrows raised. His hand comes to rest between them and there's barely enough space for it to fit without touching Peter. The younger sort of wishes it would. 

  
"We were in this old, like, storage garage building place, and he took out all the support pillars. I got crushed under a couple tons of cement. I mean, I made it out, and I didn't really get hurt, and I still stopped him, but. It, it was scary. Really scary. I thought," he pauses to give a self-depreciating little laugh, "I thought I was gonna die. And now, I don't know. I can't handle it when things are on top of me. Anything that makes me feel like I could get trapped under it. The pillow fort just sort of set me off, I guess." 

  
When he looks back to Bucky again, the man's eyes are trained intently on him. His face is still soft, an expression Peter rarely sees on the soldier. He feels ridiculous. Bucky has been tortured and brainwashed by Nazis, and Peter had a panic attack because a pillow fell on him. The full force of that comparison hits him like a freight train and he thinks he might cry. 

  
"S-sorry, I'm sorry, I know it's, it's stupid, it's so stupid and you and everybody have been through so much worse and I'm, I'm sorry, I'm just-" Peter can feel his eyes stinging. He's cut off when Bucky moves towards him, one hand going to his shoulder. 

  
"Hey, hey, none of that. Don't apologize, Peter. Don't ever apologize for things like that. It's not your fault." Bucky states, and his hand moves around Peter's back and shoulders and pulls him in, because little almost tears are threatening to spill from the younger's eyes. "Don't compare yourself to other people, kid. Just because the shit we've gone through is different from yours doesn't mean that yours isn't important, ok? You can't control what hurts you, Pete." He softens. "Believe me, I know." 

  
Bucky's voice is a low whisper now, into Peter's hair just above his ear. Peter's hanging onto the side of the older man's jacket, Bucky's other hand on his knee. He feels dense. Heavy. But he's grounded, to the cold metal and the hot flesh and his leg is pressed up against Bucky's, keeping him there. On the roof of the compound, far, far away from rubble and danger. Bucky smells like apples and body wash and Peter breathes him in so he knows that his throat and lungs aren't filling up with dust. 

  
Something logical and sane in the back of his head that sounds like Mrs. Potts counts the seconds for him to breathe to. Bucky's hushing him softly, thumb rubbing soothing circles into Peter's jogger-clad knee. 

  
"Sh, shh, it's ok, I know, kid, I know. Let it out, Peter." Bucky whispers. Peter squeezes his eyes closed and tears start to fall. He kind of figured he was going to cry. He isn't really expecting the full bodied tremor that runs through him as he chokes out a sob, taking a heaving breath, though. 

  
He cries for a while. He's not sure how much of it is finally letting out the stress and effects of his earlier panic attack and how much is from Bucky's words, exposing and soothing insecurities he doesn't even fully understand-- but he cries. He keeps crying, Bucky petting his hair and whispering against his temple, for almost ten minutes. 

  
When he finally stops, he feels tired. Tired enough to fall asleep. He wishes he could, but he's afraid that if he lets go of Bucky he'll somehow end up under the bricks again. Peter shudders as a colder wind blows, and subconsciously moves closer against Bucky. 

  
"Come on, sweetheart, let's go inside," the older man whispers. Peter doesn't even register the endearment, just lets Bucky pull him up, his arm around Peter's shoulders keeping the blanket up. Without warning, Bucky scoops Peter into his arms, still wrapped up in the blanket. Peter squeaks a little in surprise but let's it happen. He craves the warmth, the contact. The security.

  
He sniffles and buries his face in Bucky's shoulder, clinging to the man's shirt, and let's the soldier carry him. Peter closes his eyes and breathes in deep, filling up his lungs with the smell of Bucky's shirt collar. 


	2. in the morning

When Peter wakes up, he's deeply confused. The room he's in is not his own, and there's dark blue curtains blocking out the light that tries to stream inside, shining from under and above and the sides. The room is dark and barren and Peter takes a moment to realize that he's laying on a bed.

  
A very comfortable bed. A very comfortable bed with a heavy comforter that's smells like apples and body wash. He's warm and swept up in the smell, and he doesn't notice for a few seconds that in this strange room, he's not alone.

  
Bucky's laying beside him. Peter is facing him, tucked into the man's embrace. He looks up, his head nearly resting under Bucky's chin, and sees the man looking down at him. Deep grey-blue eyes only half open, looking tired and _soft_  and Peter is so confused before it finally hits him that he just _slept_  in _Bucky's_  bed, _with Bucky_.

  
He panics.

  
"Oh my god I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to f-fall asleep I'm sorry-" he rambles, scrambling to push himself up and away. He realizes his hoodie is gone and he wonders if Bucky took it off him or if he took it off himself. The latter is mortifying and makes him feel sick.

  
"Pete! Hey, hey, easy, calm down, you're ok," Bucky cuts him off. He holds onto Peter's arms and pulls him back in, cupping his cheek. It startles Peter into pliancy, looking up at the older man with wide doe eyes gleaming.

  
"It's alright, kid, you don't have to apologize. I brought you here, I'm sorry if I freaked you out," Bucky hushes, looking a little _bashful_  (if that’s possible) and Peter shakes his head.

  
"No, you didn’t, I-I'm, shit, I'm sorry Bucky, I didn't mean to be all over you like that, I was just, it's, yesterday was really rough and then you were so nice and I'm, I'm so sorry I really shouldn't have fallen asleep-" Peter babbles out, his face flushed, pushing against the older man's chest. Bucky doesn't take it, holding him in and catching the boy's chin between his thumb and index finger.

  
"No, no no no, Peter, it's fine. I get it, ok? I get it."

 

Peter pauses at that. His eyes sting and he feels like his veins are about to jump out of his skin with the adrenaline rush of his embarrassment. "I get it," Bucky repeats a moment later, relaxing a little when Peter stalls into stillness.

  
Bucky lets go of the younger's chin and runs his hand through his hair. ~~Peter wants to run his hands through Bucky's hair.~~

  
"You were freaked out and exhausted from being freaked out, and I know what that's like, kid. I know how it feels to be confused and on edge like that, and I know how much of a relief it is to have something to distract you from it, someone to help calm you down." Bucky says slowly. Peter barely registers the man's thumb rubbing soothingly onto the exposed skin of his arm. The stinging gets worse and then stops stinging all together and there's a blurry wall over his vision and Peter wants to close his eyes and hide but he knows if he closes them now then tears will fall. Fuck.

  
"I didn't want you to be alone like that. Wanted to help calm you down." Bucky finishes. He looks so open and composed and _kind_  and Peter can't help duck his head and close his eyes again, squirming in place, trying to as discreetly as possibly (not discreetly at all) wipe his eyes on the shoulder of his t-shirt.

  
"Thank you," he whispers. He can’t believe this is the second time in a few hours that he’s cried in front of the Winter Soldier. He tries to brace his hands on Bucky's chest and stretch out his arms, put distance between them.

  
He doesn't want to leave the man’s embrace, actually, because this is subconsciously the safest and calmest he's felt in a long time, ~~and he's super into the man,~~ but that's weird and he's awkward and he's two seconds from overstepping Bucky's painfully sincere consideration for him.

  
"Thank you, really, I," why can't he talk, "that means a lot, Bucky, I-I just, I'm still s-sorry about falling asleep, and, I'll, I should probably go now," he tries to wiggle away from Bucky but he man pulls him back in again. This time he wraps his arms around Peter entirely, pulling them flush together, Peter's forehead against Bucky's neck and his hands trapped between them, braced on the man's chest.

  
"Peter." Bucky says his name in a voice lower and deeper than the younger hero has ever heard it, and it makes him swallow hard. He's suddenly very aware of how close they are. Very, very close. Peter can hear and feel Bucky's heart beating and he knows Bucky can hear his too; hear how it nearly leaps out of his chest when he realizes that he is intimately snuggling with the Winter Soldier.

  
Peter's having difficulty breathing. He does not have a crush on Bucky Barnes and he's not going to embarrass himself even more. He does not have a crush on Bucky Barnes and he's not going to embarrass himself even more. He does not have a crush--

  
"Y-yeah?" He can barely speak at all and his voice still manages to crack. Bucky holds him even tighter at that and Peter thinks he's going to pass out.

  
Holy shit.

  
"You're ok, kid. You're alright." Bucky says softly. Peter is... Peter is so confused. He can't tell if he's more embarrassed or comforted or freaked out or calm. He's stressed and panicking because he's a dumbass and Bucky is really nice and also because he is so, so very close to the man right now, but at the same time, he feels so... safe?

  
He feels safe wrapped up tight in Bucky's arms. Really safe. It helps that he might be in love with him.

  
Peter can hear the rumble through the man's chest and throat when he speaks and it's mollifying, and he he doesn't even have to aggressively try to keep the tears from his eyes because they feel soothed away.

  
Bucky doesn't say anything else, just holds onto him, and Peter feels his panicked-rabbit breath cooling down. There are a lot of questions swarming his brain right now but, holy shit, Bucky is so _warm_  and he's _holding Peter_.

  
Oh, shit.

  
He's holding Peter.

  
Bucky is holding Peter very, very tight against him and Bucky's chest is firm under Peter's hands and the smaller has his face buried in the man's neck and he smells _so good_  and he feels _so good_  and (why does he like how small Bucky makes him feel) Peter suddenly realizes that he could easily get hard, pressed up against the man he definitely doesn't have a crush on, and--

  
Oh no, nope, no.    


  
Peter's about to panic again and squirm away before he can get hard against Bucky, but the man must have been able to sense the panic coming (Bucky can probably hear Peter's heartbeat, too) because he starts rubbing the boy's back and hushing him.

  
"Shh, shh, easy. It's ok, sweetheart, you're ok," the man soothes. The smaller freezes.

  
He notices the term that time.

  
The Winter Soldier does not seem like the kind of person to toss around endearments lightly. He also doesn’t seem like the kind of person to just… cuddle people that aren’t, like, Steve Rogers or something.

  
Peter manages to pull his head away and look up at Bucky with probably the most confused expression in history. Bucky just smiles softly at him.

  
The younger is about to ask, hell, he doesn't even know what, but he's interrupted by his stomach growling.

  
Loudly.

  
He cringes and knows he must go bright cherry red in the face, but Bucky just laughs lightly (why is his laugh so angelic? What?) and smiles at him, gently brushing a stray chocolate colored curl off of Peter's forehead.

  
"We should get something to eat."

  
All Peter can do is nod.

  
***

  
After waking up in James Barnes' bedroom, in his bed, curled up in his embrace, panicking about passing out in the man's arms, then panicking about possibly popping a boner, and generally spending his initial waking moments overwhelmed by the sheer sincerity and kindness of Bucky-- Peter found himself with a large plateful of omelette (courtesy of Steve).

 

Between two super soldiers and a mutant spider kid, they go through a dozen eggs, three bell peppers, two tomatoes, an onion, the whole jug of orange juice, half a loaf of bread, and a pound of bacon. Peter is on his second banana when Tony walks in, humming the chorus of a heavy metal song Peter can’t name but always plays when they’re in the lab together.

 

“Morning,” Peter chirps, since Steve and Bucky both have their mouths full of egg.

 

“Hey kid, how’d you sleep?” Tony asks, completely unaware of why such a question makes Peter almost choke. He clears his throat to cover it up and takes a panicked sip of juice.

 

“Fine!” It comes out a weird pitch and Tony gives him a look, filling up his coffee mug.

 

“You ok?” The man prompts, raising an eyebrow and looking Peter over. The younger writhes under the scrutiny and does his best at a reassuring smile.

 

“Yup,” he pops the ‘p’ and finishes the banana. Tony eyes him carefully, and looks like he’s about to say something when Natasha strolls into the kitchen, her hair up in the whimsical twisted towel. She throws her arms over Steve and Bucky’s shoulders, hands coming threateningly around the sides of their necks.

 

“Gentlemen,” she begins, a terrifyingly faux happy smile on her face, “you wouldn’t happen to know what happened to my shampoo, would you?” Steve chuckles nervously and takes a bite of toast.

 

“This feels like an interrogation for Clint, doesn’t it?” He offers her, flashing his all-American smile. Nat gives him a tight grin.

 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony’s voice snaps Peter away from their conversation, turning to see the man standing next to him at his seat at the island counter. Peter hums. He wants to take a nervous sip of juice, occupy himself, because he knows how loose-lipped he is around Tony, and for some odd reason doesn’t really want his hero to know that he got so emotional he passed out in the Winter Soldier’s arms and slept in the man’s bed. He reaches for the glass but it’s empty.

 

“You sure you’re ok?” Tony asks, and Peter looks up at his expression and softens. Right. Panic attack in a pillow fort yesterday.

 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He says. It’s genuine this time, because he does feel better. (Thanks to Bucky, that is.)

 

Tony eyes him for a moment longer, then nods, giving him a grin pretty much reserved solely for Peter. 

  
“Alright. You know I’ve got your back, right?”

 

Translation: I care about you. Talk to me if you need to.

 

Peter smiles.

 

“Mhm,” he hums, and Tony ruffles his hair, turning to smirk at where Natasha looks like she might start strangling Steve. Peter used to think the Avengers were too serious gotta-save-the-world to be so playful, but he’s starting to realize it’s _because_  they have to save the world that they’re so goofy. Even Natasha Romanoff, who Peter almost peed his pants upon meeting for the first time.

 

While Tony, Steve and Natasha distract themselves, Peter catches Bucky’s eyes. Bucky who was definitely staring at him. He swallows thickly and turns his head away, reaching for another piece of toast.

 

He feels hot under his shirt and that just makes him more nervous.

 

 


	3. kissing

“Anything?”

 

“I mean… pretty much, yeah.”

 

Bucky nods, looking like he’s contemplating what Peter said.

 

It’s some time in late evening, Peter didn’t check, but they already ate dinner and the sunset hasn’t quite faded completely yet. He’s wearing a hoodie and some athletic shorts, sitting on the main communal living room couch. Bucky’s next to him, in a t-shirt that Peter thinks is actually Steve’s and a pair of jeans. They’re facing each other, Peter backed up against the armrest of the couch, sitting cross legged with his hands in his lap, antsy fingers worrying a loose thread on one of his socks. Bucky’s not far away from him at all, sitting with one leg under him on the couch cushion, watching Peter's fidgeting distractedly but intently.

 

The conversation had begun abruptly just a few moments earlier, after talking aimlessly for almost an hour prior. Peter didn’t understand how pointless chatter could feel so nice, but with Bucky, it seems like everything is. They spent the whole day together after Peter woke up in his bed, accidentally at first, and then continued to spend all day together for the next three days after.

 

“About what you told me…” Bucky had begun not even a minute ago. “Does it happen with anything? With anything on top of you, or just structural stuff?”

 

Peter squirmed where he sat.

 

“Well, usually it’s stuff that reminds me of the rubble, ya know, like the cushions were big and square, but it can be anything. One time my friend Ned dropped my backpack on my stomach and I almost had a panic attack then, too, because it just. I don’t know. I guess everything that reminds me of being trapped or crushed sets me off.” He had tried to explain.

 

Bucky hummed, and now they’re here, with Peter nervously picking at the fray in his Iron Man sock.

 

Tony bought them for him like a joke, but now he wears them all the time, and he knows the man smiles when he sees them.

 

“What about people?”

 

Peter’s eyes snap up, looking at Bucky with confusing, his head cocked slightly to the side.

 

“What do you mean?” He asks. People? Like, on top of him?

 

The implications behind the thought are laughable.

 

Bucky looks at him, meets his eyes for a few too-short moments, letting Peter swim in the stormy color, before he moves. He slips his hands behind the boy’s knees and pulls, slowly, gently, dragging the younger towards him. He puts a hand on Peter’s chest, then, pushing down, and the smaller lets him, lets it happen. He lays down on his back on the couch, Bucky propped up over him, a full arms length above. The man cages Peter’s body with his arms and legs, his hair hanging down around his face and Peter looks up at him, studying the shape of his jaw and edges of his cheekbones.

 

The boy isn’t sure if he’s breathing, but he can hear his heart pounding loudly in his head. He meets Bucky’s unbearably intense gaze with wide doe eyes, nervous and with a vague idea of what Bucky’s thinking but far too naive and far too blinded by doubt to understand.

 

“Bucky…” His voice comes out a whisper. The older man smiles at him, looking so kind it’s almost painful. The soldier lowers his head, getting closer to Peter until they’re barely four inches apart.

 

“Is this ok?” He asks. He sounds so quiet. Peter’s stomach flips and then suddenly settles. Yeah. Oh, hell, yeah, this is _so_  ok.

 

All he can do is swallow the lump in his throat and nod.

 

“Can I take you to my room?” Bucky says, but he’s not looking Peter in the eyes anymore, zoned in on the younger’s lips.

 

Peter nods again, wondering if he’ll ever be able to speak another word after this.

 

Bucky kisses his forehead, and Peter almost chokes on air, flushing pink. Then the man is leaning back and pulling at Peter’s hands, raising him up, and the boy is about to stand when Bucky suddenly scoops him into his arms.

 

Peter squeaks in surprise, then blushes cherry red at the sound and how he’s suddenly (though, not for the first time) being carried bridal style by Bucky. He tucks his head in under the man’s chin and clings to his shirt, curling in on himself. His heart is going to beat out of his chest, he knows it.

 

Peter Parker has never had less of an idea of what the fuck he’s doing.

 

He’s all but shaking with anxiety by the time Bucky closes his door behind them, setting Peter gently on the bed. Comfy bed. Very comfy bed.

 

The younger avenger’s head spins with that smell of apples, something crisp and clean but warm, too; home-like, like a worn favorite sweater that’s just been washed. He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, because apparently he’d closed them.

 

When he looks up, he sees Bucky leaning against the bed, arms bracing himself up, caging Peter’s legs. He’s gazing so intently at Peter, that confusing, wonderfully open expression on his face. They’re still so close, Peter feels like hyperventilating.

 

“Still alright?” Bucky asks. Gravely voice. Peter likes it a lot.

 

He nods his head, afraid to open his mouth, not sure if he can really speak.

 

The older man offers him a small smile, and he looks so tender, reaching out and tucking a wild curl behind Peter’s ear. It’s a soft movement, slow and careful and _affectionate_ , and Peter has to ask, he has to.

 

“Bucky… what are you… what are we doing?” He’s almost scared of the answer and all he can do is whisper.

 

Bucky shrugs, like all of this isn’t a big deal at all (maybe it’s not?), like this and the last few days haven’t been the sweetest, most confusing, terrifying times ever.

 

“Whatever you want.” The man replies easily. Peter bites his lip. There’s an undertone there and if the room wasn’t tense before, oh hell is it now.

 

Peter swallows thickly.

 

“What do _you_  want?” He asks, and because there’s literally no way he can be reading this wrong, he unconsciously leans forward, leaving less and less space between them. Bucky meets his eyes and there’s a few moments where Peter’s waiting for the pin to drop, for, god, he doesn’t know what. And then.

 

“I really want to put my mouth on you.”

 

Peter’s pretty sure his heart stops.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asks, and he’s quiet and leaning closer to Peter and despite the mantra of _whatthefuckisgoingon_  running through his head, the younger closes the gap.

 

Peter realizes a few things when he presses his mouth to Bucky’s. One: Bucky’s lips are soft but firm and hot and wowthatfeelsgood. Two: Peter has kissed, like, four people in his whole life and he probably couldn't come off less experienced if he hadn't done this before at all. Three: holy _shit_.

 

He’s kissing Bucky. Peter Parker is kissing James “Bucky” Barnes.

 

Holy. Shit.

 

It lasts barely a few seconds before Bucky pulls away, one of his hands coming up to carefully cup Peter’s cheek. His thumb runs across the boy’s cheekbone and their noses are almost touching. Peter doesn't open his eyes yet, he’s scared to.

 

He cannot believe this is happening. He just kissed Bucky? After Bucky asked to kiss him? He never imagined in his life that anyone he might develop a crush on would reciprocate, Liz was a miracle in herself, but this, this is the _Winter Soldier_ , this is Sergeant James Barnes, Captain freaking America’s best friend, this is--

 

Peter’s train of thought cuts off when Bucky presses their lips together again.

 

Bucky moves against him and Peter clumsily attempts to return the motions, completely lacking in finesse, but the older man doesn't seem to mind at all.

  
Bucky’s hand drifts to hold the back of the smaller’s neck, pulling him in a little tighter, and he moves forward, so that Peter leans back further and further until his back hits the bed and Bucky is hovering over him again.

 

“Pete, fuck,” the man rasps, towering above the younger hero. Peter’s hands move to Bucky’s shirt on their own, clutching at his chest. He sighs as the older’s fingers thread through his hair, tightening a grip on a tuff of mocha brown curls.

 

Bucky uses the opportunity to lick at Peter’s lips and slip his tongue into the wet canvas of the younger boy’s mouth. Peter moans, soft and quiet, but Bucky must like it because he sighs lowly and breaks apart to kiss the corners of Peter’s mouth, his cheeks and nose and chin.

 

“Still ok?” He asks, Peter’s rabbit breathing a stark (haha) contrast to the calm but drastic rise and fall of Bucky’s chest. Peter nods, unable to stop a whimper from escaping him. Every single logical, anxious, confused thought in his brain left the moment Bucky’s lips met his. He wants to kiss the man again, wants the soldier to kiss him again. God, he wants more of these touches.

 

Their legs are pressed lightly against each other where Bucky’s cage Peter’s, and the heat is driving Peter’s enhanced senses crazy. He’s definitely, 100% going to get hard from this, just being in this position with Bucky looking at him like that, kissing him, but he doesn't care anymore.

 

Bucky likes him. Bucky _cares_. (Bucky's really attractive). Everything is hot and Peter’s mind is very quickly abandoning him.

 

“I'm sorry if I’m freaking you out or moving too fast,” Bucky whispers, his forehead pressed to Peter’s. The fingers at the back of his head rub gently at the nape of the younger boy’s neck and it's grounding, soothing. “You're just, I hate it when you're upset and I wanted to help you feel better and you're so, fucking, pretty… I couldn't _stop_ , kid,” he continues. He presses his lips to Peter’s nose again and kisses him chastely, barely there and the smaller wants more of it.

 

“I don't want you to stop,” he says breathily. “Please keep going-” he’s cut off when Bucky kisses him.

 

Oh, God, Peter likes kissing Bucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent chapter lengths? I don't know her


	4. loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning, this is the chapter with the sex and such

They made out for, well, Peter doesn't know how long. Eventually Bucky took off their shirts, and Peter felt the blush spread all the way down his chest as the older man raked his eyes across the boy’s naked torso, but Bucky kissed him so sweetly and told him over and over how incredible he was-- so it was ok.

 

Peter had run his hands over all the ridges and dips and scars on Bucky’s chest and stomach, traced the definition of the soldier’s muscle reverently, flattened his palms against the hot, firm body (notable larger than his own). Bucky watched him move, had covered Peter’s hands with his own and kissed his palms, his knuckles, his wrists and up his arms. He touched his lips to every inch of Peter’s smooth, milky skin that he could, petting his hair and whispering sweet things that Peter never imagined hearing.

 

They ignored how hard they both were pretty easily and Peter passed out in Bucky’s bed, the older man’s arm around his waist.

 

He’s made a habit of that recently.

 

Passing out in Bucky’s bed.

 

Passing out in his own bed with Bucky next to him anyways, cuddled up close to the man.

 

They had to talk about it, obviously. Peter felt the need to admit to his blatant crush on the soldier and Bucky reassuringly confessed that he’d been unable to keep his eyes off the other for a long time now. Which, unbelievable, but so was everything else.

 

It’s unbelievable that Bucky had shown up on the roof that night (morning) and comforted Peter, carried him inside. It’s unbelievable that Bucky had let Peter sleep in his bed and told him things he really needed to hear and been so _calm_  and _considerate_  and held him so close (and it’s unbelievable that Peter didn’t get hard from having his hips pressed tightly to that very attractive stomach). It’s unbelievable that they were able to spend entire days together with that much tension before they finally snapped and made out. It’s unbelievable that they freaking _made out_. It’s completely unbelievable that Bucky actually feels for Peter the way Peter feels for him.

 

And it’s so, so unbelievable where they are now.

 

With Peter naked on his back, and Bucky naked between his legs. Bucky’s hard length is pressed against Peter’s stomach, touching the younger boy’s own erection (shit, the soldier is so much bigger than him), Bucky kissing Peter’s lips slowly. Gently.

 

A week ago (which was a week after they first kissed), Peter had a panic attack while Bucky was on top of him. It was almost pitch black and in the early morning. With the window open the room was cold, but their bodies were hot, and Bucky had hovered over him and pressed down so they could grind together and Peter snapped. It reminded him of the building and the Vulture again (which was annoying on multiple levels, considering Peter was usually really good at avoiding these attacks and this was his second one in less than two weeks), when the cement blocked out everything and came down on him.

 

Bucky pulled him into a sitting position and pet his hair, kissing his hands and whispering a mantra of ‘you’re ok, you’re at the compound, you’re safe, Peter’ until the boy stopped shaking.

 

Bucky tried to help ease the atmosphere, quipping about ‘you weren’t kidding about anything setting you off, huh’ and Peter almost wanted to collapse in on himself in shame, but then the older man went on reasoning through it with him and he felt better. -ish.

 

So now, when Bucky presses his lips softly to Peter’s, dipping his tongue inside and running a hand up and down the boy’s exposed, pale chest and belly, he keeps himself up. Keeps distance between them, and there are a few candles burning to smell like vanilla and berries (the romantic irony is not lost on them) to shield against the threat of smelling rubble and dust. Bucky holds himself above Peter with plenty of room between them.

 

It’s honestly a little disappointing to them both, who would prefer as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, but it’s better than Peter feeling crushed and then having an episode.

 

So he holds himself up and kisses the boy while Peter runs his fingers through soft brown hair and traces the divots of Bucky’s neck and collar bones.

 

They might be moving fast. They don’t really care.

 

The cold, wet pad of a finger touches lightly to Peter’s entrance and he jumps. Bucky huffs a soft laugh and kisses the yelp out of the boy’s mouth, licking his bottom lip.

 

“Easy, easy,” he hushes. Peter nods.

 

“I know, it’s ok,” he affirms, wetting his lips and tugging Bucky into another kiss. He needs the distraction, because there’s no way he can just lay there and relax enough for this to be easy on his own.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Bucky. The opposite, actually. He trusts the man so much it’s scares him. It’s just… he’s never _done this_  before.

 

Bucky pecks his lips and peppers kisses down Peter’s jaw and neck, settling at his shoulder and nipping the sensitive skin. Peter sighs, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back. The finger at his hole simply moves in circles around his rim, testing the tight muscle, soothing and warming the cold lube against his skin. When Peter starts to relax into the sensation of the hickey Bucky’s giving him, the finger pushes in.

 

The younger puts all his willpower into keeping his body loose, and the digit slides in to the first knuckle. It’s weird and kind of confusing but Peter can’t say he dislikes it. He lets out a soft moan when the finger delves further inside him, moving cautiously slow.

 

Bucky takes his time. He presses in with breaks for Peter to adjust at every knuckle. When he curls his finger, twists it slightly, gives experimental tugs and thrusts in and out; he pauses, moves carefully. He massages the lube over Peter’s walls and starts a new love bite in the crook of the boy’s neck.

 

It doesn’t feel bad at all. It doesn’t hurt. Burns a little, initially, but there’s so much sweet, new pleasure laced into it that Peter thinks he likes it well enough.

 

Bucky adds another lubed finger three hickeys in, and he licks a stripe up Peter’s neck. The boy moans, mouthing wetly at the soldier’s jaw as the two fingers stretch him. Bucky pumps them gently, scissors a little, then crooks the fingers down and presses.

 

Peter gasps and his body jolts, his knees hiking up and accidentally tightening his grip on Bucky’s hair. He realizes it right away and dazed by the shock of pleasure, releases the long tuffs. The older man just chuckles softly, kissing his chin.

 

“That your sweet spot, baby?” Bucky coos. Peter might take it as mockery if the man didn’t sound so sweet when he said it. Instead he just whines, wordlessly asking for more.

 

Bucky obliges.

 

He works up to three fingers easily inside Peter with the added stimulation to the boy’s prostate. By the time the soldier deems him ready, Peter’s writhing on the bed, moaning softly, body flushed pink, his cock weeping onto his stomach. Bucky’s not much better, breathing heavier, a glazed-over look in his eyes and actively forcing himself not to rut against Peter’s taut tummy.

 

The older man takes his fingers out as gently as he can, earning a displeased whimper from Peter at the loss. He smirks and kisses the boy’s forehead, slicking up his length, giving himself a few strokes before he presses the flat head to Peter’s hole.

 

The smaller boy squirms in place, hands clenching and unclenching on Bucky’s shoulders in anticipation.

 

“Ready, sweetheart?” The soldier asks, meeting Peter’s eyes. The younger nods. Bucky nods back in acknowledgement, offering him a reassuring smile.

 

“Remember, you want something, want me to do something different or stop, just say so, ok?”

 

“Ok,” Peter’s voice is barely there. Bucky kisses him, one hand resting palm flat on his belly, and pushes forward. There’s resistance, and for a moment Peter’s not sure if this is going to work, but then the tip slips past his rim and suddenly Bucky is _inside him_.

 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat and he makes a tormented, strangled sound, feeling stretched impossibly wide by just the head. Bucky licks at the corners of Peter’s eyes, and he only realizes then that he’s tearing up and squeezing his eyes shut has pushed out some salty droplets.

 

Bucky doesn’t rush them in getting himself inside. It’s a gradual motion, with breaks for adjustment. When he is fully seated, however, Peter feels split open and Bucky groans lowly in the boy's  ear.

 

“Pete, baby, g-give me your hand,” he says, sounding wrecked. He takes one of Peter’s wrists and guides it down to his stomach, covering Peter’s hand and pressing it down on the boy’s own belly. Peter’s eyes snap open and he looks at Bucky in confusion and mild alarm before it dawns on him.

 

There’s a bump in his stomach, a bulge popping out of his tummy. He feels it sink away (among other sensations) when Bucky takes the first slow drag out, and reappear when the man thrusts carefully back inside. They both moan.

 

“God, Bucky-”

 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re just so small, aren’t you? So little and you still take me so well, perfect, perfect boy,” Bucky rasps out, babbling a little as he starts to establish a rhythm. Peter takes his hand away from his stomach to wrap both of his arms around Bucky’s neck, but the older man keeps his hand in place on the boy’s belly.

 

Until Peter starts to pull him down.

 

Locking eyes and not breaking the gaze, Bucky lets Peter tug him lower and lower until their foreheads are pressed together, and they close their eyes, feeling chests almost touch and Peter’s length trapped between their stomachs. Bucky kisses down the side of Peter’s face, wrapping his arm around the boy’s waist and pulling him impossibly tighter, until they’re flush to each other. Peter can feel Bucky’s heart beating right out of his chest and he moans into the man’s ear, panting for breath.

 

Bucky nibbles on Peter’s earlobe, finding the spot just under his jaw and sucking on it as he rolls his hips into the boy. Peter holds him tight, and their pressed together so entirely that he thinks Bucky can probably _feel_  the bulge appearing and disappearing against his own stomach where it nearly bursts out of Peter’s.

 

It’s not long at all before Peter starts to shake.

 

“Hey, hey, you alright? Need to stop?” Bucky asks, turning to face him, staying so close that his lips brush Peter’s cheek when he speaks. Peter shakes his head quickly, whimpering.

 

“N-no, please, p-please don’t stop,” he pleads. His voice is higher. It feels so good, so so good. Sparks of pleasure keep rolling through him and it’s so new and wonderful and Peter loves it. Bucky smiles against the boy’s skin and kisses each freckle he can get his mouth around before latching back on to the boy’s neck.

 

He thrusts a little harder, experimentally, and is rewarded with a breathy, feminine moan from Peter.

 

Bucky repeats the action and gets the same response. He shifts forward, angling himself a little, and starts to push into Peter a little rougher, a little faster. The boy whines and gasps for breath.

 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky,” he chants. The soldier groans and snaps his hips, and Peter feels pressure all the way through him. Neither of them are going to last like this, pressed so tight together.

 

Peter doesn’t think about cement and metal wings that cut through concrete pillars. He doesn’t think about tons of rubble pummeling him into the ground, or the dusk caking into his throat.

  
He thinks about how crushingly _whole_  he feels, melted against Bucky’s body like this. There’s pressure and weight but he doesn’t think about that, because he’s too preoccupied with the man’s cock and mouth driving bright, beautiful sensations through his body.

 

“I’ve got you, baby, I’m here,” Bucky whispers. He peppers gentle kisses to Peter’s temple and face, grinding into the boy’s prostate. Peter was never going to last very long.

 

His body tenses up and he knows he’s painfully close, so he whimpers as such into Bucky’s ear. The man smiles against him, dragging his teeth on Peter’s shoulder and nailing the younger’s sweet spot consistently. The friction of their bodies rubbing together from Bucky’s thrusts, trapping Peter’s cock between their two toned stomachs, with the heat from Bucky’s mouth, that sense of _safety_  and every feeling the man gives him-- it all proves too much.

 

Peter goes rigid and tight when he comes. He keens, letting out a wrecked sob and grasping Bucky unimaginably tighter. His thighs press against Bucky’s hips, to drag him further, deeper, his body trembling. Ivory release paints their stomachs, not given much space from how much their bodies are touching.

 

Peter must clench down awfully tight, because then Bucky moans like he’s ruined and starts thrusting faster. He goes harder, narrowly avoiding the boy's over sensitive prostate, latching onto the younger’s shoulder with his mouth.

 

Peter feels dizzy and it's good. He likes it. Like his head is all filled up with fluff and fog and the candles smell _so good_  and Bucky feels _so good_  and Peter whimpers at the over-stimulation but still holds onto Bucky as much as his trembling arms will allow.

 

The arm Bucky has around Peter’s waist pulls him so tight it hurts (just a little) and he thrusts himself forcefully inside the boy, moaning Peter’s name.

 

The younger feels him tense up, stiffening above him and body running hot, a layer of sweat on his skin. Bucky clamps his teeth down on the crook of Peter’s neck and it kind of hurts like hell but _fuck_  it feels good.

 

Peter feels the heat and wetness inside him when Bucky comes. He feels full, filled up and bursting. Bucky goes nearly limp on top of him, letting them both relax into the bed.

 

He doesn't panic. He doesn't even remember what was so scary in the first place. Where are they? Peter doesn't know right now or care. He just feels _safe_  and _whole_. Bucky’s heavy and huge comparatively, but it's like Peter’s being enveloped warmth.

 

The older man kisses his temple. 

 

“Good?” He prompts. Peter’s not sure if he’s asking about the boy’s mental state or physical condition or the sex, but it's the same answer any way.

 

“Good, y-yeah, great,” Peter manages. His voice is a little ruined and cracks when he speaks. Bucky hums, pulling back enough to pepper kisses over the younger’s face. He presses warm, slightly chapped lips to Peter’s flushed skin, trailing along his cheekbone to his nose, his top and then bottom lip, his jaw and back up to his forehead.

 

Peter tips his chin up, opening glassy doe eyes to search for Bucky. The older man smiles at him, covering the rest of the distance and kissing him gently.

 

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” he whispers. Peter preens, grinning sleepily into the kiss.

 

“You're perfect,” the smaller boy replies.

 

“Bucky?” He adds a moment later, their foreheads resting against each other. There’s release and sweat cooling on their stomachs and they work on breathing normal again.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I'm hungry.”


	5. Mr. Stark, please don't kill my boyfriend

“Barnes?”

 

“Mhm?”

 

“Three seconds. You have three seconds to get out of my fucking sight before I set you on fire.”

 

“Stark-”

 

“Three.”

 

“Mr. Stark, wait-”

 

“Two.”

 

“Tony, listen, just, we need to talk about this-”

 

“One.”

 

Steve actually has to step in front of Bucky, who’s standing with his hands raised defensively, while Peter grabs onto Tony’s arm. The man’s hand is encased in a gauntlet and it's powered up, palm aimed at Bucky.

 

Peter puts himself in front of the gauntlet and looks up at Tony, trying to catch his attention.

 

“Mr. Stark, stop, it's ok, please calm down, let us explain-”

 

“Oh, you’ve got explaining to do,” Tony begins, looking at Peter like he’s about to explode.

 

Moments ago, Tony had come looking for Peter, wanting his input on one of their projects in the lab. With FRIDAY’s help, he’d strolled into the kitchen expecting to find his protégé killing time on his phone or having a snack.

 

Instead, he’d caught the exact moment Bucky pecked the younger boy on the lips, smiling and answering his question of if Bucky wanted some water, too, with a soft-spoken ‘yeah, thanks baby’. Needless to say, after confused sputtering and moments of trying to comprehend what he just saw, still in shock, realization of a non-platonic relationship had dawned on Tony and he’d promptly lost his shit.

 

They were laughing, they were enjoying each other’s company, too engaged with each other and comfortable in the compound to notice footsteps approaching, and Tony stopped setting off Peter’s spider sense a long time ago (much like Aunt May and Ned). They had no idea he was there until Peter turned away from Bucky to get the water and saw the man standing in the entree-way looking stunned.

 

And now, because Tony is neither blind nor stupid and Peter’s a bad liar, they have problems.

 

They’re lucky that Steve was right behind Tony (on a mission for a smoothie), or the only thing between Bucky and a gauntlet would be Peter.

 

“What the actual, genuine fuck, Barnes?! He’s a kid, he is a _kid_ , he’s literally over eighty years younger than you! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Tony shouts, because he is shouting at this point.

 

“Tony, put the glove down, ok? We have to _talk_  about this,” Steve tries to reason. He’s narrowing his eyes at Bucky as he says it, though.

 

“We really, _really_  have to talk about this,” he adds, a little quieter, directing it to the other soldier. Bucky just looks back at him and then to Peter, where the boy is nearly hanging off Tony’s arm. The youngest knows, or at least, he really believes that Mr. Stark wouldn’t actually shoot a blaster at Bucky, he just wouldn’t, but the threat and possibility are freaking him out.

 

“Please, just-” He starts, but Tony cuts him off.

 

“And you, Peter; what the hell were you thinking?!” The man begins. “You’re way too young for him and you’re way too not-murderous! If you're going to be  _involved_ with people they should be people your own age, not twentieth century fox over here! I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible!”

 

Which, _ouch_. Peter cringes at that, and Bucky takes a step forward. Probably not the best decision.

 

“Hey, he didn’t do anything wrong, Tony,” he says. Steve puts his arm over Bucky to hold him back and reaches the other hand out defensively towards the billionaire.

 

“Don’t even try it, do not start, or I swear to God I’m gonna call the whole suit.” Mr. Stark snaps. He starts yelling at Bucky about being a child molester (even though, despite whole seventy years of cryogenic storage that makes him over a hundred years old and the ‘trauma ages people’ bits, Bucky’s really not even thirty and Peter’s plenty legal) and threatening to cut his dick off for manipulating Peter, while Bucky, Peter and Steve all try to calm him down.

 

Peter is. Peter is panicking. Because Mr. Stark is not calming down at all and keeps threatening to murder Peter’s boyfriend (is he, though? Are they calling it that?) and Steve is not helping much because for every word he tries to make Tony relax, he’s also technically on the inventor's side.

 

“Mr. Stark, listen to me!” Peter exclaims, and it’s kind of a dirty trick because he knows his tone and words are an echo of the ferry incident (that they both say they’re over but remains a sensitive topic), and he knows that Tony would drop the world on it’s ass to listen to Peter when he talks like that. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he’s just freaking out, but it comes out of his mouth.

 

And sure enough, Tony’s eyes snap down to the younger, and he looks no less fired up but he’s not saying anything else, so Peter takes the opportunity.

 

“Please, _please_  stop threatening to kill Bucky and let me explain,” he says cautiously, stumbling over his words in a fearful attempt to get them out. Tony locks eyes with him and the man must finally realize that Peter has his hands planted on Tony’s chest to hold him back but is still physically shaking, looking scared, because he slowly lowers his hand. The gauntlet powers down and nanobots retract back into his wrist watch. He doesn't move other than that, though.

 

“Start talking.” Is all he says. Peter takes a deep breath.

 

“Bucky didn’t do anything wrong, and honestly, I don’t think I did either, ok? I _l_ _ike_  him and he _likes_  me, and he’s not a child molester because I’m not a child and I _want_  this. He’s not manipulating me, Mr. Stark. This was my choice, too. And for the record, mentally, he’s like, not even ten years older than me. And I’m an adult. I am an adult and I can make my own decisions about who I want to be with.” He pauses, whether to let Tony or himself process what he’s just said, he’s not sure. But a few seconds later and Mr. Stark looks like he’s ready to tear Peter’s argument to pieces, so the boy jumps back in before he can.

 

“If you think I’m mature and intelligent and strong enough to go on Avengers missions, then why am I suddenly just a kid when it comes to being with Bucky? I know you’re just being protective, Mr. Stark, and I appreciate it, sir, I really do, but I don’t need you to be. I can take care of myself and I can make my own choices.” Peter feels like all the air in his lungs is gone and he thanks Thor that he didn’t start crying from pure stress.

 

Tony looks at him. And looks at him. And looks at him. Caramel brown eyes bore into chocolate and neither of them breaks the contact. The older man studies his face and Peter really wants to shy away from the intensity of it but he has to prove his point.

 

After what seems like forever, Tony sets his jaw and looks up. Peter’s pretty sure he’s meeting Steve’s gaze.

 

“Peter, will you come with me?” Steve asks suddenly. The younger boy whips his head around to see Cap still looking at Tony but slowly lowering his arm from Bucky’s chest. “Buck and Tony need to talk.” He emphasizes the word ‘talk’ and Peter’s legs feel like jello, his heart doing the rabbit beating, but he nods. He looks between Tony and Bucky as he follows Steve out of the kitchen and down the hall.

 

Bucky gives him a reassuring smile and Tony keeps his eyes locked on the soldier, and Peter feels butterflies in stomach to such a nauseating degree that he doesn’t realize Steve has lead him to his own bedroom until they’re there.

 

“Thought this might be more comfortable,” the man begins. Peter nods and sits down on his own bed, pulling his legs up to himself. A few hours ago, he and Bucky were having sex on this bed. And about eight hours before that, they were falling asleep in each other’s arms while thinking of increasingly incorrect ways to pronounce ‘spaghetti’ and laughing about it.

 

And now Steve is dragging Peter’s desk chair up and sitting in front of him, face looking torn between ‘you’ve got this, you’re captain america, you’re a responsible adult who can have uncomfortable conversations’ and ‘two seconds from throwing myself out this kid’s window’.

 

“Peter.” His voice is steady and reminds the younger of the PSA videos he used to see in high school. All the boy can do is hum in response and hold his knees tighter to his chest.

 

“Just- just tell me honestly. What is the relationship you have with Bucky.” And then, as if an afterthought, he adds, “And I want the whole of it. Don’t sugar coat it and don’t leave anything out, because this is important.”

 

Peter tries to swallow the thick lump in his throat. It doesn’t go anywhere.

 

“We’re.. Um.. together, I guess?” He attempts. Steve raises an eyebrow and lets out a slow breath, seeming to realize he’s going to have to guide this conversation completely.

 

“Romantically involved?”

 

Peter nods. Steve pauses, blinks slowly, and then meets Peter’s eyes.

 

“Sexually involved?” His voice is soft and non-judgmental, and that helps Peter to nervously bow his head again, face going pink. This is a long way from the ‘fondue’ thing, he thinks. Steve nods slowly.

 

“Ok. And, how did it start, exactly?” He prompts. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his spot, trying and failing to rearrange his body, like maybe if he finds the right position he’ll disappear.

 

Ok. This is fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Steve will understand, he will, and they’ll help Tony understand, too. It’ll work out, and no one is going to get blasted or kicked out off the team. Peter takes a deep breath, then a second one, and starts to tell Steve the short history of his and Bucky’s relationship. Starting with the unacknowledged crushes and continuing to emotional comfort to physical intimacy to... well. The rest.

 

Peter’s pretty sure they keep their conversation relatively short and to the point, but it feels like it drags on forever. Every second Peter is preparing himself to jump to his or Bucky’s defense, but Steve doesn’t criticize. He’s pretty much the opposite of thrilled, but he listens, and he asks questions and when they’re done, he puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder and tells him honestly that he’s not particularly happy about it, but if the two of them are safe and happy, then he can respect and appreciate that.

 

Which is huge news coming from Captain freaking America.

 

Peter only hopes Tony feels the same.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have literally never heard of consistently lengthed chapters in my entire life


	6. holding on a little tighter

As it is, the boy doesn’t get to talk to Tony again until that evening.

 

Bucky tells Peter it was a hell of an interrogation, but after almost an hour of the billionaire throwing every argument and attack he could think of, tearing Bucky apart and threatening every other minute to murder him if he hurts Peter (to which Bucky persistently and unfailingly replied that he would never)-- Tony stared him down for an uncomfortably long time and relented. Said they’d talk more later, got up, and left.

 

Peter doesn’t see Mr. Stark until late that night, when he’s sitting nervously on the living room couch, once more with his knees pulled up to his chest, anxiously texting MJ and Ned. He's kind of terrified, because he's not sure he can handle Mr. Stark's disapproval. He’s wearing his Iron Man socks again.

 

“Hey, Pete,” Tony says, startling the younger. The inventor is leaning against the wall on the far side of the room, and takes a breath before slowly making his way over. Peter can hear his heart beating just a little bit faster as he steps closer, sitting down on the couch beside the boy.

 

“Hi..” Peter whispers. He meant to sound more normal, but his voice gave out at the last second, betraying his already obvious anxiety, and he flushes a little redder at that. Tony smiles reassuringly and puts his hand on one of Peter’s feet.

 

The man’s palm alone is a lot bigger than the younger’s foot and Peter watches Tony’s fingers find the same frayed thread that Peter always worries absentmindedly.

 

“Listen, kid, I’m… about earlier... ok, first things first, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I yelled at you and called you irresponsible.” The older begins.

 

“It’s ok,” Peter offers quietly. Tony shakes his head.

 

“No, really. That, that was wrong of me and, just, blatantly incorrect. So I’m sorry about that.”

 

Peter gives him a smile grin. “I forgive you.” He says, because Tony can’t argue with that one. His mentor smirks, but it only lasts a second.

 

“Peter. I need you to be honest with me. Really, really honest with me. I promise I won’t get mad at you, and I won’t try to kill Barnes or anything, but you gotta tell me the truth.” The man looks up at him. Peter nods slowly. “Did- do you want this? With him. Do you really want it. Are you comfortable with this relationship, are you, are you _safe_  with him?” Tony asks.

 

There’s so many different things he means, multiple questions barreled into one (one connotation in particular that is mortifying to think of answering directly). It’s the same answer, though.

 

“I am. We are, we’re, we’re safe. I’m safe, and I am comfortable, and I’m happy. Mr. Stark, I’m really happy with him,” Peter says, and he means it so much, he hopes Tony can hear the sincerity. Mr. Stark sighs.

 

“You know he’s dangerous.”

 

“Not to me.” _Not to any of us_.  _Not anymore._

 

“He’s a brainwashed ex-assassin.”

 

“He was, but now he’s a nerd for science that he doesn’t understand and a superhero.”

 

“He’s _old_.” Tony tries, but the corners of his mouth turn up a little. Peter just laughs breathily for a second.

 

“Not really.” Tony pauses to appreciate the faint smile on the younger’s face.

 

“He’s got a lot of issues, kid.” The man says finally. Peter stares at the wall in front of him, thinking carefully, before turning to his mentor again. He remembers the night on the roof, which seems both terribly distant and just yesterday. He remembers Bucky holding him close and telling him what Peter didn't know he needed to hear. He remembers each night that he holds Bucky's hand and kisses his cheeks when the man can't wake up from his night terrors, and cradles the soldier's head in his arms when he's finally forced out of sleep. 

 

“We all do. He helps me with mine, and, I like to think I can help with his, too. Even if it’s just a little.”

 

They’re quiet for a long while after that. It’s not uncomfortable, though. Tony’s rubbing Peter’s foot absently, soothingly, staring off at where his hand covers red and gold fabric. It’s started to rain outside and the pitter-patter of water drops landing on the full-wall windows is a relaxing rhythm. Peter can hear a bird somewhere nearby. 

 

Eventually, Tony sighs. He takes his hand off Peter’s foot and wraps it loosely around the back of the boy’s neck, fingers dipping into his curls, grounding the both of them.

 

“I want you to be ok, Pete. I want you to be safe and happy, and, I honestly don’t think this is it. I really don’t.” Tony states, not meeting Peter’s eyes, and the younger boy thinks he might have a heart attack. “But,” there’s a life saving pause. “I trust you. And you’re right. You’re a mature adult and you can make your own decisions, and I don’t like it at all, but this is your choice. So whatever you want, _whoever_  you want, kid, I’ll support you. I've got you're back.”

 

Peter can’t breathe. Is this real? Is Tony really ok with this?

 

“Really?” He asks, disbelieving and quiet. Mr. Stark scoffs at him.

 

“Really. But if Barnes ever hurts you, I promise I will-”

 

“Violently dismember him, got it.” Peter laughs, and Tony smirks. And then because he really can’t stop himself, Peter lunges to the side, wrapping his arms around the older man’s shoulders and hugging him. There's an initial shock at first, for sure (this doesn't happen often), but the younger doesn't think either of them mind.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers. “Seriously, Mr. Stark, it means a lot to have you on my side.”

 

Translation: Your approval and support are important to me because you're really important to me. 

 

Tony smiles against his hair, and it takes a second, but he hugs the boy back. Tight.

 

“Anytime, kid. Always.”

 

***

 

Peter slept in Bucky’s bed that night. The boy kissed him like his life depended on it, straddling the man’s chest while the soldier held tight to his thigh and traced the hickeys on his belly. There were some words they kind of wanted to say to each other, but thought maybe they should wait a little while longer. Just a bit.

 

They had sex fast, first. Passionate and a little rough and somewhere between needy and relieved, because two of the most important people in their lives are ok with this, with  _them_. 

 

Steve and Bucky had a long talk, too. If the way Bucky kissed Peter, the way he rolled his hips into the smaller boy said anything-- it went well. 

 

They were slow the second time. Slow and tired and gentle and  _loving_. Bucky kissed him, the entirety of him, from his bony ankles to smooth calves and navel and wrists where he felt the boy's pulse against his lips, up his shivering spine. Peter dragged the man into a kiss and carded his fingers through Bucky's hair, kissing the man's jawline as the soldier massaged his thighs. Bucky laced his fingers with Peter's, pinned the boy's hands to the bed beside his head and made love to him.

 

The next morning, when Peter was smudging pancake batter on Bucky’s cheek and Bucky dabbed some onto the younger boy’s nose, just to playfully lick it off to both of their amusement, they only startled a little when Tony walked in. He was accompanied by Steve and Natasha, who seemed completely unsurprised at the displays of affection (go figure. She’s the fucking Black Widow. Of course she knew).

 

Tony was tense. Peter froze a little. But then Steve (trying to adjust so quickly, the saint) patted the inventor on the shoulder and strolled in between Peter and Bucky towards the fridge, and Tony sighed. He gave Bucky a curt nod (which Peter counted as a massive win) and ruffled the smaller boy’s hair.

 

“Smells like sugar in here,” he mumbled. Peter smiled. 

  
“Pancakes. Want some?”

 

Tony turned around and carefully watched Bucky fix the collar of Peter’s shirt, then dropped his shoulders, shaking his head and filling up his coffee mug.

 

“Sure.”

 

Peter beamed and felt the warmth of Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. “Steve? Natasha? You guys want any?” Natasha grinned at him and replied before Steve could offer a polite ‘no, thank you’.

 

“Love some.”

 

Peter nodded and turned to the burners and pan behind him, scooping out some more batter. He missed the way Bucky watched him fondly as he attempted not to spill any drops on the counter or stove. And he missed the way Tony watched them both, eyes softening, just a little.

 

Ok.

 

They’re working on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very kindly for reading, it took me a week to write this because I kept getting distracted :D
> 
> Hope you liked it <3


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